


sucker for you

by raincheck (seungmin)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Bottle Flipping as a Vehicle for Emotions, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Feelings, M/M, Park Jisung (NCT)-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-29
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-11-12 15:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18013193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seungmin/pseuds/raincheck
Summary: Ever since Jeno dared him to land a bottle on its cap, Chenle has been incessantly challenging himself to outdo that legendary gif.





	sucker for you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaeno](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaeno/gifts).



> it’s that time of year again: happy bday j!!!!! it has now been thirteen years since the iconic day that u made fun of me for being too short to use the swings on my own… AND WE HAVE BEEN BEST FRIENDS EVER SINCE ☆____☆
> 
> thank u for everything and anything, here’s to many many many more years of friendship i lov you + ur doggo (the real mvp)!!!!!!
> 
> (i know its hard to imagine chenle + jisung as anything other than bestfrenz4ever but pls suspend disbelief… i think jisung jealousy complex is totally plausible considering jaem has it too. also i think everyone should watch [this](https://twitter.com/sunbaeknims/status/1083669308583030784) and [this](https://twitter.com/ot21things/status/989116749848174592) so u know that this entire fic was based on the premise that chenle has clearly made some sketchy deal w/demon to achieve ultimate bottle flip powers.)
> 
> title from sucker by the jonas brothers

Ever since Jeno dared him to land a bottle on its cap, Chenle has been incessantly challenging himself to outdo that legendary gif.

“I bet I could flip this onto your head,” he grins as he pops out of the shower ten minutes earlier than the carefully laminated, color-coded schedule that Taeyong had advised Mark to make after learning he’d been appointed leader dictates. He’s holding the shampoo bottle in the air and dripping water as he walks. The short nap Jisung had taken in the car on their way home from the broadcasting station isn’t doing enough for him to stand here watching the floorboards under Chenle’s feet slowly go dark.

“Please don’t,” he grimaces, and tosses Chenle a change of clothes. “If you fail I might end up concussed.”

“I don’t see how that’s any different from your usual state,” Chenle shoots back, words muffled as he wriggles into his t-shirt.

Mark chooses to poke his head through the doorway then. _No threatening or even hypothetically threatening (yes Renjun that’s you) actions toward fellow members are allowed,_ Jisung remembers belatedly. Right.

“Do you want another repeat of the Jaemin Incident?” Mark asks, looking faintly displeased. His chin is going to be forever dimpled from how hard he frowns.

For good reason though—the Jaemin Incident is the newest addition to the _SM WILDERNESS SURVIVAL_ booklet that they pass out to all of the new trainees, second only to Doyoung going on rampage when Jaehyun unplugged his fridge before they left for Japan.

“You talkin’ about me?” Jaemin slinks in now, and god, Jisung just wants to go to bed.

“Get out,” he huffs. Once he’s made sure that all unwelcome occupants (Mark, Jaemin, _especially_ Jaemin) are on the other side of it, he hip-checks the door shut. He turns back to Chenle, who’s been steadily increasing his state of dress since Jisung last saw him. “You,” he grunts, points to Chenle’s bed. “Stop talking nonsense.”

Chenle sniggers. “Okay, _maknae._ ”

One well-aimed pillow later, the room falls silent.

 

 

Jisung may have technically met Chenle way back when, backstage as his stomach churned with what later turned out to be food poisoning, standing off to the side next to the one translator they’d brought out for the event, faces fuzzy on the tv monitor, the squeaky sounds of _You Raise Me Up_ echoing through the speakers, rushed compliments in the aftermath—but it’s too hazy in his head to really count as meeting Chenle. 

Instead, their first meeting goes a little something more like this:

Jisung sat by himself in one of the old practice rooms near the west wing of the building, scrolling through his phone during one of their prolonged water breaks. The rest are doing their own thing: Mark, valiantly attempting to coax Renjun back into practicing the dance and not wrapping his hands around Donghyuck’s neck; Jaemin, going a little too overboard with their hoverboard concept and accidentally whacking Jeno on the head; Jeno, scowling and nursing what might be the beginnings of a bruise. _Yeah mom,_ Jisung tapped away at his phone, _everything is fine_.

He’d just hit send when the doors burst open, the sound effectively toppling Jaemin to the floor.

“Ow!” Jaemin groaned, clutching at his head.

Jeno was quick to elbow him. “Now you see how I feel,” he hissed, pointing angrily at his forehead. That was definitely going to leave a bruise.

“Hello everyone!” 

And there was the reason one third of the newest SM boy group had bruises at the moment. 

“My name is Zhong Chenle,” he said, voice climbing higher with each word. “I’m the newest member of NCT. Please take care of me!”

Jisung eyed him warily—it was a little late in the game to be adding new members. Zhong Chenle came in with bright eyes and big smiles and skin that seemed to bounce back if you touched it. His knees knocked together in the silence of the room as he huddled himself smaller under all of their stares. He didn’t seem to be as short as Renjun, at least.

_Still no match for me though._

But it was only when he said his name that Jisung managed to pinpoint what threw him off initially—it was evident in the way he spoke that he practiced this too much. He’s a foreigner.

“Are you Chinese?” Renjun ventured hesitantly. “It sounds like it, from your name.” 

It took a while for Chenle to process the words, but for the first time since stepping into the room, his smile turned genuine. “Yeah!” He beamed, and then there was a whole string of Chinese that followed afterward.

Jisung turned to Jeno, who shrugged back at him. They’d both ditched their last few Chinese lessons to sleep in.

He tried to make do with the small bits that he managed to catch: _New—cool—where?—hard_. But when even Renjun started smiling, eyes crinkling into pudgy crescents and actually looking like the “pure boy” he’s supposed to be, Jisung kind of wished he’d taken his lessons.

Mark cleared his throat and extended a hand out. Renjun fell silent but winked at Chenle, a subtle promise to continue this later. Chenle _giggled_ in response.

“Welcome to the team,” Mark grinned, a little lopsided. Jisung caught a glimpse of Donghyuck studying Chenle, hard. At least he wasn’t the only one wary. “We’re glad to have you here.”

“I’m glad to be here!” Chenle reached out to shake Mark’s hand, and Jisung felt his stomach drop in response.

_Who is this guy?_

 

 

Jisung’s not one to believe in online quizzes like Donghyuck, but maybe that MBTI thing Mark brought back from his trip to the doctor’s office might have gotten one thing right about him, because Jisung is indeed, an introvert.

(“See Donghyuck! I told you it’d work—this is why you need to stop reading trashy tabloids about Lee Minho and start reading this stuff instead.”

“Okay Mark, I have nothing better to do, so I’ll try your… Em-Bee-Tee-Eye?”)

His joining SM had been a relatively quiet affair. He’d breezed in, gotten destroyed in the singing and rapping and variety and acting and modelling classes but felt confident that he could at least survive the dance ones, and gotten destroyed in those as well. Only the comparisons to SHINee’s Taemin (both in age and career beginnings) really kept him going.

But Chenle, apparently, was some kind of child star back in China. And maybe Jisung should’ve known that, considering they met at some gala designed specifically for child stars, but then again, that meeting didn’t really count—it’s only fair that Jisung didn’t know.

(“I’ve heard of him,” Sicheng had remarked offhandedly once, to the sounds of murmured agreement from Kun and Renjun. “My sister used to play his stuff in the car when we were younger.”)

Either way, all of that translates into Chenle not getting destroyed in classes like Jisung. Far from it, in fact. 

“You’re quite good,” their dance teacher said at the end of practice one day, nodding with his head to indicate Chenle. “You learn quickly.”

“Thank you!” Chenle bowed, face flushed red with pride. Jisung felt something ugly twist in his chest.

The compliments didn’t stop there. Chenle wasn’t just a natural in dance (which, by the way, was Jisung’s territory), but also in singing and rapping and variety and acting and modelling—everything that Jisung still failed at.

“Don’t worry about it,” Taeyong had pulled him aside after class one day. “SM is keeping you on for a reason. The dance teachers used to tell me that I’d never make it, did you know that?”

Jisung looked up, eyes marred with tears that he’d deny later. It’s hard to imagine Taeyong as anything other than natural center. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong grinned. “But look at me now!”

And look at Jisung now.

 

 

Even when they finally got to debut, when they left behind practice rooms and sweat towels and monthly evaluations and started all over again on new footing, Chenle managed to get a headstart.

Jisung had gone first to get recording out of the way. Even after all this time, it’s nerve-wracking both being in there and being outside of it. He feels a little like a lab rat.

Now though, it’s his turn to be the scientist, and he’s taking his full advantage of it, watching the rise and fall of Chenle’s chest in his too-tight shirt as he sings. His hair is curled way too tightly, which had prompted a peal of laughter from Jeno, a Medusa comment from Renjun, and Donghyuck giving Mark a noogie, cackling all the while about _Ramen hyung!_ According to the stylist, hair sets best that way. Jisung wouldn’t know, he’s busy enough as it is: running his lines under his breath like a mantra, scrubbing at his cheek to get rid of any lingering pain from Jaemin’s pinches, and watching the light catch on one side of Chenle’s face.

“You only trained for two months?” The producer that they’re working with paused the audio to playback Chenle’s recording before nodding in acknowledgement. “Good job.”

“Thank you!” 

It’s an endless cycle.

 

 

If each NCT member could be whittled down to one easily distinguishable keyword (which’ll become necessary once the group starts looking like the size of a small country by the coast), Chenle’s would be stubborn.

“What if I flipped this onto the fridge?” He wonders, spoon tracing the edge of their milk carton lazily.

Renjun (Moomin) shudders and slides it out of Chenle’s reach. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“That’s definitely not a good idea,” Donghyuck (Michael Jackson) mutters grumpily. Their manager just told him that he had to cut cereal out of his diet.

Chenle pouts. “You guys are no fun.”

“Or we just don’t want Doyoung to yell at us during monthly room inspections again,” Jeno (Milk) says.

Jisung winces at the reminder. Last time, he and Jaemin (I don’t have a girlfriend) had completely forgotten that Doyoung (Vroom Vroom Talk Show) was going to be dropping by, and of course that was the day that they agreed to house some of the extra healing crystals that Renjun impulsively ordered online during one of his late night flights of fancy. Needless to say, all three of them had barely escaped unscathed.

Mark (And that’s a long ass ride) frowns. “Why are you worried? Doyoung never yells at you.”

Jeno leans forward in his seat, eyes wide. “Yeah, but the second-hand embarrassment is _real._ ” He scrunches his nose up in distaste. “Just because he’s nice to me doesn’t mean I’m not mortified to hear him tear into you guys for living like cavemen.”

“Cavemen.” Jaemin states blankly. “Really?”

Renjun grumbles under his breath. “Not everyone can afford an air purifier.”

“Maybe we should worry about getting a new fridge first.” Mark winces, and Jisung follows where Mark’s finger is pointing to see the milk carton standing proudly atop the fridge. He’d actually be somewhat impressed that Chenle managed to do it had it not been for the fact that the fucker flipped the carton successfully—without the cap.

There’s a kind of thunderous silence.

Donghyuck takes it upon himself to break it. “Chenle!” he screeches, which immediately sets off Taeyong’s distress radar. And, well, everyone knows how that ends.

Later, Jisung pops by their shared room to find Chenle packing his stuff. Apparently the punishment this time is to move in with their manager for “supervision purposes.”

“I thought it was kind of cool,” Jisung shrugs, doing his best to sound nonchalant.

Chenle’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, Jisungie.”

 

 

So yes, Chenle is stubborn and Renjun is “innocent” and Jaemin is flirty and so on and so on, but Jisung doesn’t really know what he is—being the youngest isn’t exactly a personality trait.

(Though it seems to be working quite well for EXO’s Sehun. Maybe it could be, if he tried hard enough.)

He comes across this question a lot more than he likes, unfortunately. For one of their next variety appearances, they’re tasked with creating personal profiles. Jisung’s stuck.

“Hyung,” he whines, poking at Mark’s side. “How would you describe me?” If Mark answers for him, he doesn’t have to think about it.

Maybe Mark was the wrong hyung to ask though. “Look,” he groans, rolling over from where he’s splayed out on the floor. “I just got back from running rehearsals with 127. Can’t you just, I don’t know, make something up?”

Yeah, wrong hyung.

“Okay,” Jisung mumbles, and trudges off to find someone else.

“Don’t be so hard on him,” Jeno whispers quietly when they’re busy running mic checks. Jisung had wound up plugging “positive adjectives” into the Naver search bar and hitting _enter_ to finish the rest of his profile. “Three sub-units is a lot to handle.”

“I know,” he sighs, and while he’s not in three sub-units himself, it’s not exactly a lie. Jisung _does_ know what it’s like to be bone-tired and dead upon hitting a vaguely flat surface each night—er, morning. Mark’s a pretty good leader as it is. Jisung has no complaints. 

But there’s still a couple of things that he doesn’t know, like: “Do you think he’s ever confused?”

Jeno squints at him. “About what?”

“Just, I don’t know.” Jisung shrugs. “What his place is in NCT. Switching around all the time must be pretty exhausting.”

The way Jeno’s eyes soften has him squirming uncomfortably. Jisung asked about Mark, so why is Jeno acting like it’s about _him_?

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Jeno says, before he catches the camera rolling in the corner of his eye and plasters a smile on his face. “You’ll always be our maknae, no matter what!”

Maybe he should ask Sehun for some pointers.

 

 

Chenle’s new bottle flipping obsession seems to be pretty strong, to everyone’s surprise. All of them go through their respective obsessions pretty quickly (though none of them hold a candle to Renjun, who’s flip-flopped between aliens and horoscopes and conspiracies and more), so when Chenle emerges from his room two months later and asks to flip a bottle onto Jisung’s head again, he’s caught unawares.

“Come on,” he groans, running a hand through his hair. He’s not really in the mood for this. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Chenle shrugs, still holding the bottle out. “Not really.”

“Fine,” Jisung snaps, voice rough, and it must’ve been a little too harsh because Chenle honest-to-god flinches at the word. “How about this,” he tries, softer this time. “ _I’ll_ flip the bottle, and if I make it you’ll stop asking. Deal?”

When there’s no answer for a good five seconds, Jisung starts to panic. _Maybe this was a dumb idea_ , a small part of him worries, but it’s drowned out by a somewhat muted: “Deal.”

He glances up at Chenle, who looks uncharacteristically sullen. “I bet you won’t be able to do it,” he says, but there’s no bite in his words. Just a kind of quiet hurt.

Jisung manages to do it.

 

 

Something’s up.

Jisung’s not dumb—he knows he did something wrong. Or, well, he knows he did something wrong when Chenle bursts out of Renjun’s room a few days later with red-rimmed eyes and flees in panic when he sees that it was Jisung he bumped into. Clearly, it’s Jisung’s fault.

So he tries to pry Renjun for information, except that all he gets is a muffled “Go away, Jisung” when he knocks. That’s the last time he’ll help hide Renjun’s crystals for him, sheesh.

He tries Jaemin’s room next. “Something’s wrong,” he says, sliding under the covers stealthily.

“Hmm?” Jaemin cracks an eye open at the warmth suddenly being replaced with cold, cold feet.

“I messed up.” He burrows himself under the blankets, now that Jaemin’s begrudgingly let his feet be. He doesn’t want to look at Jaemin, though it doesn’t really matter because Jaemin’s too preoccupied with his phone to look at him anyway. “I messed up and I’m not quite sure how to fix it.”

Jaemin finally drops his phone—Jisung makes out the words _SuperStar SMTOWN_ before the screen goes black—to roll over and stare blankly at the ceiling. “Do you know what you messed up?”

“It’s Chenle.” Jisung frowns. It’s always Chenle.

“Ah.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Well,” Jaemin says, “shouldn’t you talk to him, for starters?”

Jisung picks at one of the threads coming undone from the blanket. “I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

Because he’d already tried that—sort of. Mark had inherited some kind of seventh sense about these things from Taeyong the moment the word “leader” had left the CEO’s mouth, and he’d volunteered to help Jisung carry their lunch back to their dressing room. 

“Whatever’s going on between you two, please fix it,” Mark had grunted, lugging the case of kimchi fried rice up the stairs.

Jisung should’ve known that Mark had ulterior motives. Who would willingly volunteer to help bring back lunch?

(Except maybe Jaehyun. Jaehyun would.)

“Like how you and Donghyuck fixed whatever summer fight you guys had?” Jisung shot back, and okay, he wasn’t being totally fair. “Sorry,” he’d muttered, and Mark had sighed in response.

“Whatever’s wrong is just making you more on edge.” Mark’s words tapered off abruptly when they arrived in front of their dressing room. “So really, could you try talking to him?”

And so Jisung tried talking to him. 

“Hey Chenle,” he’d called when it was just the two of them and some of the stylists in the room, “can we talk?”

The resounding sound of a water bottle slamming on the ground was enough of an answer for him. _Alright, maybe not._

“That wasn’t really talking,” Jaemin protests, flipping over to stare at Jisung accusingly. “He didn’t even say anything.”

“I know,” Jisung says sadly, because he can’t really argue with that. Jaemin’s right.

“You don’t have to be so scared about it, you know. It’s just Chenle.”

Is it really? Chenle’s been an enigma in every sense of the word since day one. He’s bright and unapologetic and never really bothers to watch his image but somehow makes it work for himself anyway. He never tries hard to cultivate a certain personality and doesn’t seem to care whether the public likes it or not. He fumbles for food immediately when it gets delivered and doesn’t even blanch when the hyungs call him out for it. He comes to SM out of the blue and manages to get everyone hooked on him in two months flat. Jisung’s been trying since day one to answer _Who is this guy?_ and he still can’t.

So: he’s definitely scared, to say the least.

“Okay,” he says in response to Jaemin, who’s been peering at him expectantly for an answer. His mouth is dry. “Thanks for the advice.”

 

 

Chenle doesn’t really start avoiding him, but he makes his intentions known when manager pairs them together for a live and he shuffles uncomfortably after the announcement. Jisung’s heart aches a little at the sight. Even if he’d never really _known_ who the hell Chenle was, they’d still been able to pull off some kind of camaraderie between them (Jaemin tells him it’s because he’s finally gotten better at acting, but Jeno rolls his eyes and says _What does Jaemin know about acting anyway?_ The joke’s on him though—Jaemin just landed his first role last week). Now, Jisung thinks he could suffocate in this silence.

Two in the afternoon is surprisingly too quiet to muffle his thoughts. His back’s against the wall, sneakers hitting the floor with each _badum_ of the music, ears plugged. He tips his head downwards to stare at Chenle discreetly. Two in the afternoon is too quiet to do much good, but maybe, he thinks, he can at least try.

“Chenle,” he starts, drainpipe voice clogged with worry. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I’m not quite sure,” he admits, hands restless. “But I don’t want to make you sad.”

That gets a scoff. “I’m not _sad_ ,” Chenle grumbles, spinning around to face him. He’s hunched into the couch in the corner of the room. “Just a little upset.”

“Why?” Jisung asks, breath caught in his throat. He’s a little scared to push any further.

Chenle counters. “How come you wouldn’t let me flip the bottle onto your head?”

“I didn’t want to get a concussion.”

“Bullshit,” he grouses, and Jisung feels like a firecracker just popped in his chest. He didn’t realize that Chenle even _knew_ that word.

“I was in a bad mood,” he amends. “Sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” Chenle mumbles into his hands, rubbing circles into his cheeks. “Look,” he sighs, “I know you don’t really like me.”

“Who said that?”

“Well isn’t that what you meant when you told me to stop asking? I thought it bothered you.”

And oh. Jisung kind of sees it now. Chenle, who whistles in time with the ocean and winks stardust with his left eye, is still susceptible to the kinds of black monsters that sit below Jisung’s gut. Chenle works himself into a frenzy over jokes smited and laughs unheard, even if he never shows it, even if he’s too young and bright and charming to care.

Jisung’s dizzy with relief.

“Here,” he says, holding out his water bottle toward Chenle, “try now.”

“Really?” Chenle beams, glowing, and Jisung knows he’s done something right.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“I’ll make it,” Chenle says, voice hardened in determination. 

Jisung snorts. There’s no doubt about it.

_One, two, three—!_

Chenle makes it.

**Author's Note:**

> even gods [fail sometimes :(](https://twitter.com/chenlelegend/status/990911070414913537)
> 
> find me here! ⟶ [twitter](https://twitter.com/mythsick) // [cc](https://curiouscat.me/elsewhere) // [listo](https://listography.com/spearmint)


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